Change
by Pocket.Full.of.Procrastination
Summary: People change. Oneshot. Slight Stenny.


**Hey, guys. If you read my other stories you'll probably either be glad I've at least put up SOMETHING, or pissed off that this is some spontanious oneshot and not a long overdue update. Yeah, well, I was INSPIRED. O-O By Taboe's oneshot, At the bus stop. Actually, it was more the summary that gave me the idea. But yeah, this is a descriptive piece, and as much as I love dialouge, this has none. Which is shocking, I know. I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN. But, yeah. Enjoy. ^^**

In the small, snow covered town of South Park, Colorado, there is a bus stop. And at that bus stop stood four nine-year-old boys.

One's hair was hidden beneath a blue hat with a red poofball on top. His face was friendly, and his deep blue eyes gave him a sort of subtle beauty that contrasted lightly with his somewhat average appearance. The pockets of the plain brown jacket, trimmed with red, hid his hands. His blue jeans were worn and wet at the bottom from treading through the snow, his black boots unable to protect them. He stared passively at two of his companions who appeared to be in a fierce arguement.

The one closest to his wore a bright green ushanka, ear flaps down, that covered his hair. The trim of his orange coat matched the hat, as well as the mittens that clothed his fists. His teal pants were in good shape, tucked into his boots for protection, though they sagged out the sides. His face seemed to have a sort of stuborn pride that shone even past the anger that resided there. His brown eyes were on fire as they glared at the boy he was shouting at.

This boy was large and surrounded in a thinck layer of fat. He seemed to be gettting some sort of pleasure out of the anger his opponent possesed. Though his face was snarling at his, his brown eyes were smirking madly. He wore a sky blue hat that bore a yellow ball of fluff on top and held tightly to his head. His red jacket seemed like it would need to be replaced by a bigger one soon, though it still had plenty of wear. His hands, yellow mitten tugged on them somehow, hung at this side, twitching in excitemeng, though his legs, squeezed into brown corduroys, remained steady.

The last boy stood next to him, his expression and hair hidden beneath a tightly drawn orange hood that continued into a worn, dirty parka. He had pants to matched, perhaps even dirtier and more worn. His boots looked like they would soon be developing a hole, something his brown gloves already possesed. His arms were wrapped around himself, most likely for warmth, and he watched the fight beside him with baby blue eyes that were so out of place that they popped.

A few years later, the scene had disolved and was replace with a set of thirteen-year-olds.

A boy clad in black now leaned against the sign, black hair fallen over one eye, while the other was surrounded in thick eyeliner. He must have been freezing, for he wore no jacket, just a tight black t-shirt with the logo of a band in white across the front. Various wristbands clung to his wrists, most of them black, and his long nails were painted in the color as well. His black jeans were tight, and his red converses drentched in snow. White buds hung from his ears and the screaming could be head even outside, though he seemed unaffected, standing calmly with his eyes closed.

The boy next to him was glaring at him this time. His hair was a mass of red curls, though they were slightly tame. He was wearing a brown Abercrombie and Fitch jacket with fur on the hood, unzipped to reveal a light blue shirt of the same brand. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and dark green skate shoes that offered little more protection than the other boy's converses. His arms were crossed in front of him and a look of deep irritation showed in his face.

The third boy was larger still, and he showed little signs of change. While he'd ditched his hat as well, his yellow jacket was plain and did little or him. A bit of his fat had turned into muscle, but not much, and his legs still tugged the fabrid in his jeans. His pudgy hands were now gloved in red as he pointed accusingly at the boy dressed in black with an angry look on his facem no amusment finging its way into his eyes this time.

The last boy was staring at the ground, messy blond hair blowing in the wind he seemed to no longer be bothered by. He was weraing a holy brown jacket that may have had several previous owners, and a pair of equaly holy white fingerless gloves. His jeans had holes in both knees and the color had faded throughout. He had on a pair of old sneakers and was currently using the to fiddly with a rock.

And again, a few years later, the scene had changed, seventeen-year-olds now standing there.

His black hair had been cut back from his eyes and both blue eyes once again stone through. He was wearing a dark blue t-shirt over a white long-sleeved one and a pair of worn light blue jeans. He was grinning and talking happily to his neighbor, whose hand was entwined in his own.

The blonde had moved from the other side to stand next to him and was listening eagerly. He was draped in a green and white football jacket, numbered 12, that said "MARSH" on the back. He was wearing a similar pair of jeans that he had previously, and didn't look like he had grown at all over the years, but his face was pure bliss.

The red head's curls had softened up a bit more and now framed his face. He now had glasses, which suited him well, and wore a light green buttoned shirt under a plain blue jacket. He was smiling softly at the two to his right, though he held a book, and the pride had momentarily gone from his face.

The large boy, larger still, though more had developed into muscle, was for once silent. He glared out over the snow straight ahead of him. His clothing was basic, nothing special, and his hands were sloved into his pockets unhappily.

And now no one stands at the bus stop. It's empty and the snow that resides there is undisturbed. But it won't stay that way forever. One day, perhaps, I'll see a new group of boys, standing across the street as I walk pass. I never spoke to them, but I knew them. Knew them just by looking.

**Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh. Just kind of about them growng up. I dunno about you guy, but I HATED middle school. O-O I didn't realise it till I left, but it was so fucking terrible! Everyone thought they were the shit when we were actually just REALLY REALLY STUPID. I based them then on how things were at my school. Everyone was either trying to be emo because for some reason it was cool or wearing the SHIT that is name brand clothes. Yep.**

**I was originaly gunna have Style at the end but then I was like, no, I feel more like STENNY. And there it is. TEH STENNY. I made Kenny uke, fufufu. X3 I've never managed to do that before.**

**So, yeah, hope you guys liked it. Review pleeeaaaaaaaassssssssseeeeeeeeeee! I mean, I suppose you don't NEED TO since it's a oneshot and doesn't require updating, but PRETTY PLEASE! It'll make me feel like this isn't a worthless piece of crap.**


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